Dark Nights Part 1

DARK NIGHTS.

by CHRISTINE FEEHAN.

Acknowledgments

A big, huge Thank You to my agent, Steve Axelrod, for getting me this opportunity. This book wouldn't have been written without Brian Feehan, who helped with battle planning and every other aspect. Thank you so much the hours of brainstorming!

DARK DESCENT

Chapter One

Veins of lightning lit the clouds, dancing whips of white-hot energy illuminating the midnight sky. The earth rumbled and rolled, unsettled and flinching as the creature clawed its way through the soil to burst into the air, instantly fouling every living thing it touched. Leaves shriveled and blackened. The air vibrated with alarm. The vampire settled to earth, turning its head this way and that, listening, waiting, its cunning mind racing, its rotten heart beating with a mixture of triumph and fear. He was the bait, and he knew the hunter was not far behind, close on his trail, drawn straight into the heart of the trap.

Traian Trigovise burrowed through the soil, following the stench of the undead. It was too easy, the trail too well marked. No vampire would be so obvious unless he was a rank fledgling, and Traian was certain he was dealing with strength and cunning. He was an ancient Carpathian hunter, a species nearly immortal, blessed and cursed with longevity, with timeless gifts and the need for a lifemate to make him complete. He was first and foremost a predator, capable of becoming the most loathsome and evil of all creatures, the undead. It was his sheer strength of will and duty to his race that kept him from falling prey to the insidious whispers and call of power.

When the tunnel veered upward toward the sky, Traian continued onward, pushing deeper into the dirt, feeling his way, listening to the heartbeat and energy of the earth around him. All was silent, even the insects, creatures often summoned by the evil ones. He scanned the surface, taking in a large area, and discovered three blank spots, evidence that more than one vampire was close.

He found a web of roots, thick and gnarled, humming with life, reaching deep into the earth. He whispered softly, respectfully, touching the longest, deepest artery, feeling its life force. He chanted softly in the ancient language, asking for entrance, and felt the response moving through the thick old tree. Leaves shivered as the tree reached toward the moon, embracing the night even as it shrank from the presence of the foul beings. Imparting secrets and conspiring to help, the tree spread its roots to allow Traian into the intricate system protecting and nourishing the wide trunk.

The hunter was careful not to disturb the soil or the root system as he maneuvered his way through the labyrinth, pushing through the surface just far enough to scan his surroundings from inside the cage of safety of the overlapping roots above ground. Stealthily, he shape-shifted as he emerged, nothing more than a shadow hidden amongst the thick branches and leaves.

For one moment he could see only his prey, the tall, thin figure of Gallent. He recognized the vampire as one of the ancients sent out by their prince so many centuries earlier, just as he had been. The undead continually twisted, sniffing the air suspiciously, his gaze darting along the ground. He clicked his long fingernails together in a peculiar repeated rhythm.

The wind rushed through the grove of trees, and the leaves rustled and whispered. Traian allowed his gaze to shift, quartering the area, searching with his mind more than with his acute vision. The breeze brought the echo of that strange rhythm to him, coming from his left. Those blank spots-the undead protecting their foul presence from nature-came from his right. It took a few more moments to detect the other two undead waiting to fall upon him and rip him to pieces. He shifted again, drifting with the breeze through the cage of roots, rising as molecules into the night, allowing the friendly wind to take him higher into the cover of leaves.

Dark clouds swirled into a boiling cauldron. Lightning veined the murky, spinning ma.s.s. He hovered there with a small, humorless smile in his mind. Discretion really was the better part of valor in some circ.u.mstances. The band of vampires had been following him, first one group and then another, attacking and retreating each time he got the upper hand in the battle. This time, they appeared to have the advantage and in any case, he was already exhausted. Like a pack of dogs wearing down prey, they had been nipping at his heels for several risings, inflicting damage here and there, nothing huge, but enough to wear him down. He would pick his own battleground.

As he turned away, the sound of the clicking fingernails came again. The sound grew louder. With each click, droplets of water fell from the clouds-tiny droplets that never quite reached the ground. The beads collected in midair, formed a large, shimmering pool. Shocked, he could see his own reflection clearly in the pool. Not the scattered molecules, or an illusion, but the real man amongst the leaves. If he could see himself, so could the enemy. It was his only warning, and it came just a heartbeat before the attack.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and instantly reacted, somersaulting through the sky, shifting into his true form, grateful for the leaves that hampered the nearly invisible silvery net meant to entangle him. Spears spiraled through the air, along with tiny darts tipped with poison from the tree frog, and showers of red-hot embers that burrowed into the skin and burned for weeks, engulfed him in a fiery cloud, penetrating deep. Pain slammed through him, but Traian shoved it aside, turning to face the enemy. Insects clouded the skies, and all the while the clicking of the fingernails went on relentlessly.

He launched himself at the shadowy figure orchestrating the fight, ignoring the two lesser vampires. Gallent seemed to be directing the action, a leader in evil, as he had been a leader among Carpathians. The ancient Carpathian-turned-vampire was a master at planning cunning traps and with the poison working its way through his system, Traian knew he was in serious trouble. He couldn't allow Gallent room to think. His lesser vampires were considered fodder, merely p.a.w.ns in his scheme to kill a Carpathian hunter. It was Gallent, Traian had to destroy.

Traian burst through the sky, his fist already snapping out, driving toward the vampire's chest, intending to smash through the rotting sh.e.l.l of bone and tissue for the blackened heart.

Gallent shimmered transparently. The fist pa.s.sed through his body harmlessly even as the undead struck back with razor-sharp talons. The hand came from Traian's left, the swift, sure movement of a full-fledged master. The knifelike nails drove deep through flesh and muscle, all the way to the bone. One of the lesser vampires hurled himself onto Traian's back, sinking his teeth into his target's exposed neck.

Dissolving into mist, Traian streaked toward the ancient vampire, at the last moment shifting back to solid form, his fist slamming deep into the chest of the undead. Gallent shrieked. Black blood sprayed over the hunter, burning through flesh to bone, the poisonous acid pouring over Traian's arm and hand.

Gallent retaliated with a swipe of his vicious claws at Traian's eyes, attempting to blind the hunter. A brutal head-b.u.t.t followed, and the vampire rolled his head to one side, teeth tearing into Traian's neck, right over his vulnerable artery. Pain streaked up his neck and radiated through his body as the vampire's serrated teeth viciously sawed through flesh to get at the enticing banquet of pure ancient blood.

Traian set his teeth, pushing aside the fierce pain to burrow deeper, tunneling towards the blackened heart. His flesh tore and the vampire spit it out, gulping at his spraying blood. The two lesser vampires shrieked in glee and leapt at him, dragging him to the ground, ripping his arm back away from their master, teeth burying into his body, desperate to get at his blood. Gallent kicked at them as they tried to devour him, teeth ripping through skin to get at the precious treasure.

The pain level became agony, nearly impossible to block out. Traian knew he had to retreat to give himself enough time to repair the damage to his neck and body. With such a blood loss, he was weakening fast. He twice tried to throw off the lesser vampires, but they stuck to him like glue. Gallent's furious orders and vicious kicks couldn't dislodge his minions either. The lure of pure blood was too strong.

Gallent abandoned his tactics, saliva dripping in long, s...o...b..ry strands from his mouth, as the need for Carpathian blood overcame his discipline, won over hundreds of years of being vampire. He threw himself on Traian, talons raking and teeth biting, trying, like his underlings, to strip flesh away and get at the blood. So rich and pure, the feast would boost strength and give the vampires not only a further advantage, but a rush of feeling they were so desperate to have.

Weakened, Traian took the only way out left to him, evaporating and taking to the air, streaking away from the frenzied undead. Shrieking, the three followed him, unwilling to lose their prey when they were so close to victory. Killing a hunter of Traian's stature would be a significant victory, and with the taste of blood already in their mouths, they refused to allow such a prize to escape. Traian's blood rained down on the shivering leaves, the scent of the ancient gift driving the vampires into a frenzy of rage and hunger.

Traian had long been fighting these battles and weariness settled over him even as he raced across the night sky, forced to flee with the poisonous acid working its way through his body and his blood spraying across the forest, the hounds of h.e.l.l nipping at his heels. He glanced up at the sky. Sunrise was still a good hour away. The vampires would pursue him until they had no other recourse than to go to ground to avoid burning in the sun.

Cursing under his breath, he used a flash of tremendous energy to cut off the bleeding and repair his torn neck as best he could in flight. He needed soil and saliva, but flying as mist precluded both. Shifting took energy as did staying in the air, and he was running on empty. He needed to shake his pursuers fast. The hounds had become the hunters and they had a pack.

He glanced at the sky, calling softly for aid. Clouds responded, moving across the stars, dark and boiling, lightning edging the bottoms, the energy building fast, looking for targets. Deliberately he slowed just a little, just enough to draw excited, triumphant shrieks from the lesser vampires. They increased their speed in an effort to capture him.

Traian dove toward earth, the three vampires spreading out like a vee behind him, Gallent leading the way. Heavy forest rose up to meet him. Fog lay along the ground, thick and heavy, a dense mat of mist obscuring the thick vegetation of rotting trunks and leaves. He slipped into the layers of fog, turned sharply to slide behind a large rock basin hanging over a stream. Casting a trail of running footsteps leading away from his actual position, he stayed very still, waiting for the three vampires to descend.

Gallent, with his years of experience, dropped back to allow his hounds to sniff the ground and rout around for the scent of the wounded Carpathian. Eager to find the treasure of rich blood, the two grotesque creatures crawled on the ground. One whined eagerly, finding the faint trail of kicked up leaves. He rushed after his prey. The other abandoned his sniffing just a few feet from where Traian was concealed in the layers of fog. He'd cut off the spraying arc of blood from his torn neck, but there were hundreds of b.l.o.o.d.y bites covering his body and the vampire had only to take another couple of steps and he would have scented his prey. Fortunately, the undead was far too greedy and didn't want his companion to get the jump on him.

Gallent hesitated, torn between caution and greed. The first lesser vampire shrieked again with joy as he discovered a twisted piece of moss right on the bank of the stream. Gallent made his decision and followed, dropping to earth, shoving aside his two underlings to peer down at the trail.

Traian struck hard and fast, slamming bolt after bolt of lightning into the area, blanketing the forest and stream with forks and whips of white-hot spears burning through the sky to earth. Thunder shook the forest, reverberating through the night. The trees lit up in macabre orange and red, glowing hot.

The vampires screamed horribly as fire ravaged the earth around them, burning pure, turning foul breath to ash. On the other side of the ferocious storm, Traian once again took to the sky, retreating to find a place to rest and heal before he returned to the hunt. It was his way of life, one he had known for far too long now.

He traveled quickly through the night. The Carpathian Mountains were riddled with networks of caves, where rich soil deep beneath the earth waited to welcome him. He was close to home. He had been steadily traveling back to his homeland to see his prince but had become sidetracked when he came across the vampires. He had spent the last few risings leading them away from the area where Mikhail Dubrinsky and his lifemate, Raven, were known to dwell.

His shoulder throbbed and burned. His neck was a fierce torment. There were a hundred places on his body that ached from the embers and darts and the terrible bites where chunks of flesh were missing. He found an opening into the cool interior of the mountain, went deeper still, through a labyrinth of tunnels into the earth. He floated down into the bed of rich soil and just lay there, feeling a sense of peace and solace in the wealth of welcoming minerals.

He would need blood to recoup. But for now, the earth welcomed him, would do its best to aid in his healing. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.

Austria

The theater doors opened to allow the smartly dressed crowd out. They emerged laughing and talking, a crush of happy people pleased with the performance they had witnessed. Lightning forked across the sky, a brilliant, dazzling display of elemental nature. For a moment the long, sequined gowns, furs and suits of varying color were lit up as if caught in a spotlight. Thunder crashed directly overhead, and the ground and buildings shook under the a.s.sault. The light faded, leaving the night nearly black and the crowd almost blind. The throng broke into couples or groups, hurrying to their limousines and cars, while valets tried to work fast before the rain began to fall.

Senator Thomas Goodvine stayed beneath the entrance archway, bending his head toward his wife to hear her over the buzz of the crowd, laughing at her softly spoken words, nodding in agreement. He pulled her beneath his shoulder to prevent her from being jostled by the steady stream of people hurrying to avoid the weather.

Two trees formed the unique archway to the theater, the branches interlocking overhead to form a small protection against the elements. The leaves rustled and the branches clicked together in the rushing wind. Clouds whirled and spun, weaving dark, ominous threads across the moon.

Another burst of lightning illuminated two large men pushing against the stream of theatergoers, apparently determined to gain shelter in the building. The flash of light faded, leaving only the dim lighting of the archway and the streetlights flickering ominously. Thelma Goodvine tugged at her husband's jacket to bring his attention back to her.

"Gun! Down! Get down!" Joie Sanders plowed into the senator and his wife, her arms outspread, sweeping them both to the ground. In one move she rolled up on her knee in front of them, a gun in her outstretched hand. "Gun, gun, everybody down!" she shouted.

An orange-red flame burst from two revolvers in a steady stream toward the couple she'd been a.s.signed to protect. Joie returned fire with her usual calm and dead-on accuracy, watching one man begin to topple, almost in slow motion, his gun still firing but up into the air.

People screamed, ran in every direction, fell to the ground, and crouched behind flimsy cover. The second gunman grabbed a woman in a long fur and dragged her in front of him as a shield. Joie was already pushing at the senator and his wife in an effort to get them to crawl back inside the relative safety of the theater. The second gunman propelled the sobbing woman forward as he fired at Joie, who rolled again to cover her charges' line of retreat.

A bullet sliced through the flesh of her shoulder, burning a path of pain and spraying blood over the senator's trousers. Joie cried out, but steadied her aim, ignoring the churning in her stomach. Her world narrowed to one man, one target. She squeezed the trigger slowly, precisely, watched the ugly little hole blossom in the middle of the man's forehead. He went down like a rock, taking his hostage with him, falling in a tangle of arms and legs.

There was a small silence. Only the clicking of the branches could be heard, a strange, disquieting rhythm. Joie blinked, trying to clear her vision. She seemed to be looking into a large, shimmering pool, staring at a man with flat, cold eyes and something metal glinting in his hand. He rose up out of the crowd, slamming into Joie before she could scramble out of the way. She twisted just enough to escape the lethal blade, driving the b.u.t.t of her gun upward into his jaw, then slamming it back down on his knife hand. He screamed, dropping the blade so that it went skittering along the sidewalk. His fist found her face, driving her backward. The man followed her down, his face a mask of hatred.

Something hit the back of his head hard, and Joie found herself staring up at one of her men. "Thanks, John. I think he smashed every bone in my body when he fell on me."